Work and stories
I’ve been thinking about work a lot lately, perhaps because I’m now back in a mental space where I can focus a bit more on where I want to go with my job. I’ve had a few months where I’ve turned up to work, done my job, come home again … and nothing more than that. I’ve been lucky that I have a job that allows me to do that.

Now, however, I’m starting to see that the same flexibility that allowed me to take a back seat has come at a price: I’ve, predictably, not advanced in any way over the course of the year. In fact, I’m feeling that I’ve taken a few steps backwards. I’m not complaining: I would not have been able to give my job 100% over the last few months, and the fact that I’ve been allowed some space to drop down to 80-90% suggests that my management value me enough that they’ll accept 80-90% from me for a while.

Inevitably, I’ve also been thinking about my career in general. Is this a job I want to be doing for the rest of my life? Is it what I’ve spent my life working towards? Well, I’m lucky that I have a good job that I enjoy doing, but it’s no way my dream job. I doubt there are many people who can truly say they have their dream job. (Mine would be to write full time, but the chances of that happening are infinitesimal. Even if I had my work published regularly, I would have to sell a LOT of books in order to make a living out of it.)

It is, however, probably the best, most ideal job I could have in the real world. So, I will carry on doing what most people do: I’ll turn up to work, find inspiration wherever I can, and do the best work I can do for 7 or so hours a day.

After that, I get to come home and do all the stuff that having a good job lets me do: such as caring for the kinderbesten, writing stories, watching Netflix and playing with my Bluetooth light bulbs.